A Detrimental Education
by Le Petit Chou Nerd
Summary: Eolin Lavellan is one of the few Dalish elves in history to attend the University of Orlais. She sees her enrollment as a chance to reinvent herself, but life can be hard with piling debt, longstanding prejudice, a demanding professor, and a frought love life. Modern Thedas AU (warning: eating disorder; eventual smut; emotional abuse)


Warning: characters inhabit problems of depression, eating disorders, and emotional abuse in this story. It will have a happy ending though, I swear!

* * *

" _Good MORNING folks! Happy to be here today in bright and sunny Val Royeux! I'm your host DJ Fade, and you're listening to K3103 – the one and only hit music station! Up next..._ "

Somehow, Eölin found the deep, velvety smooth crooning of DJ Fade from the speakers of her radio alarm clock a little more than ingratiating when it woke her in the ungodly hour of 5:00 am. Ungodly? No, she should be used to it at this point. With a groan, her body grinded itself upright from the top of her lofted bed. She pushed away the brightly colored and patterned comforter to reveal her unruly mass of black and frizzy hair. Opening her sand-crusted eyes, Eölin noticed that the room was still very dark. The sun had barely risen. Yawning, she propped her feat over the edge of the twin-sized mattress and stretched to heart's content.

Today was a new day. She was to make new friends, make new contributions in class, and fashion something new about herself (whether it was her weight or fashion choice). It was the mere fulfillment of an oath she swore since leaving the Free Marches that college would be a new start.

In less than a minute, Eölin shook off last night's fatigue with a couple more stretches – pulling at the sinews of her arms and tugging at various tendons. Her hand swiped at the toothbrush and toothpaste standing in a cup by her door. Jamming the brush into the side of her mouth, the eighteen-year old burst out in her oversized cotton t-shirt, a shirt so large it reached down to her knees and therefore allowed her to navigate the girls-only dorm with nothing but her panties. As she walked through the dimmed fluorescent lighting of the corridors, Eölin relished the quiet of an early morning. Almost none of the other girls were up. Almost none of the girls would loiter in the hall, gossiping and making snide remarks as she passed by.

Eölin hurried to the washroom in case she was wrong. She stationed herself in front of a sink and mirror before finishing most of her morning ministrations. The still lethargic elf splashed cold water against her face, making herself wake and braced for the rather long and rigorous day ahead. For a second, she contemplated the image in the mirror before her. She turned her head to the side so she could see her profile. Her fingers brushed against the pointed ears – large and so painfully conspicuous. Eölin winced before spitefully spitting out her toothpaste-ridden spittle into the sink. _My ears aren't that big_... Rouge flushed her cheeks at the thought that being an elf in Orlais – in the prestigious Univeristy of Orlais – was actually an issue. Frowning, she turned away of the mirror. _No, it shouldn't be an issue._

She turned to walk to the other side of the bathroom. Hesitating in front of the dreaded little square, slightly raised from the floor, Eölin eyed the machine not without a hint of bitter apprehension and looming disappointment. _Alright, here goes_. Her fingers tugged at her shirt and pulled them up from over her shoulders. Now she was left with nothing but her underwear, fully exposing her body to the harsh light. Her eyes glanced downward, scanning the flesh she hated so. All Eölin could see were flabs clinging like parasites beneath her limbs. Stretch marks lined her navel and the skin above her thighs. In an act of almost ritual self-loathing, the elf pinched the excess skin of her belly. She gave it a shake and saw the fat underneath make waves. _No, stop_. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and told herself over and over the mantra of her new life: _focus on now; be the best you today_. A sigh escaped her lips before she stepped on the scale to finally measure her progress.

The arrow flew horizontally across an array of numbers before landing with a bounce on its declaration. In cold typeface, the numbers read: "165 pounds."

 _Maintained_. Eölin bit her lip. For her short height and petite frame, she needed to be less. Or at least, she kept aiming for less. She would have to do better.

Diet magazines always said get a healthy breakfast, but she _always_ got a healthy breakfast. It doesn't seem to be working. Her stomach growled and whirred as she stood stock still on the scale. It made its daily announcement. _No, I need to take new measures_. She promised herself change. She had expectations. Her new college life would be more fabulous, more glamorous... more beautiful. Scrunching her nose with a sullen frown, Eölin clasped her hands on her abdomen in hopes of repressing the gnawing hunger. She decided: skip breakfast and go for her run.

* * *

"The problem with theories of the universal – in a word, universalism – lies in its importation to those outside the universal, for those whose experience is outside the universal. Take for example the politics of Andraste's decree on magic: magic must _serve_ man. Now, this simple and deceivingly straightforward phrase has led into two schisms between two major political powers. Tevinter..."

The muffled roaring of her belly sounded in the back of the lecture hall. Eölin huddled into her hoodie, retreating into its baggy cave of fabric as her eyes glanced every which way. No one, not even the professor, turned his or her head. She let out a sigh of relief before setting her pen to vigorous work on her notepad.

"...As you can see, the concept of the universal is an ideological concept. That is, it is a constituted thought – thought used to govern lives however conscious or unconscious. The politics of culture deals and directly opposes this sort of discursive framework..."

Eölin felt her vision waver. A slight floating feeling detracted her attention, and for a moment she had to still her wrist from making new marks on the paper. Biting her lip, she focused her gaze on the professor. Professor Fenharel – an elf! Eölin's own enrollment as an elvish student was groundbreaking if not controversial. She could imagine that Professor Fenharel's tenure was no less scandalizing to the haughty researches of the university. He was young for his profession, bald, and smartly dressed in his button down shirt and dark "classic cut" trousers. She remembered when, on the first day of class, some of the Orlesian freshmen gushed over "the handsome rabbit." Handsome for being a rabbit? She wasn't certain what exactly they thought. Still, they must have liked him. His lecture for "Cultural Politics of the Wars of Attrition" was packed with one hundred seats immediately taken for the seminar.

The back of her pen traveled from her pad to the part of her lips. It was a habit of hers. Fixated on the professor and his rhythmic, calming oration, the pen found its way in the comfortable groove between her teeth. Feeling it triggered the impulse, and her teeth clashed down hard –chewing and working its way as her eyes stared into the figure whose words trailed off into nothingness.

"I suppose that is a concern that we must address in this seminar. What do you think, er-..." He tipped his glasses below the bridge of his nose as he scanned the seating list. "Ms. Lavellan? Eölin Lavellan?"

Eölin jumped at the sound of her name. She almost spat out her pen in surprise. It flew, dropping it on her desk as her hands dropped to the side of her seat. Her spine went rigid, and her tawny skin flushed pale. The professor called on her, caught her in the midst of a hunger-induced daydream.

Silence engulfed the room. All eyes spotlighted her, waiting – not without impatient scorn – for the elf to give her opinion. Already, Eölin could feel the aggravated wrinkle of an Orlesian's brow, annoyed that the elvish professor would favor and call on the only elvish pupil on campus. Her teeth gritted from behind her pursed lips. Pressure stacked with each focused glance Eölin caught from the corners of her eyes. They were expecting so much from her, no doubt. Was she not the only "knife ear" to be admitted in her graduating class? She _must_ be exceptional. She must prove to them that rumors and expectation were correct, lest she utterly prove their prejudice right and play the dumb elf. Shoulders slumped, she made a retreat lower into her seat. Hopefully, everyone would forget about her. The professor would realize this has been a huge mistake.

"Ms. Lavellan, have you nothing to say on the politics of universalism during the Blessed Age?"

A knot rolled down the powdery thickness of her throat, dried and wrenched with a ball of aching nerves. The dizzying version stilled, thankful for the merciful though perhaps unintentional bounty the professor gave in repeating his question.

"Um, uh... yes!" She fiddled with her notes and shuffled her papers about so she could gather her thoughts. "Well, the – uh..." Brows linked in hasty fury above her bridge. She scattered things around not to search for the answers but to calm the storm of stage fright. Eölin could hear suppressed giggling ring around her, and it made her fingers fidget even worse.

"Excuse me, professor?" An elegant voice, almost musical and diplomatic in its delivery, spoke in its full Orlesian glory. A young woman. Eölin recognized her. She was the somewhat sought-after student from her graduating class.

Professor Fenharel scanned over his seating list, looking for her name. It had only been two weeks in school. The students forgave him his blighted memory. "Ah, Ms. Florianne de Chalons. You care to help Ms. Lavellan?"

The young woman with her cropped blonde hair, her ruched silk blouse paired with her pleated skirt and knee-length boots shifted in her seat so as to straighten her posture. With a smile, she turned towards Eölin and recited her answer, "The theory of universalism is key for any exercise of absolute sovereignty. In the Blessed Age, the sovereignty of formerly dominant players was fraught. The Chantry addressed this issue with a universalist approach to the interpretation of the canticles. 'There can only be one interpretation,' and this dogma waylaid the otherwise schismatic politics concurrent with both the Orlesian civil war and the Ferelden rebellion."

Eölin could have sworn the rest of the class wanted to jump from their seats and offer her their applause. Florianne turned from her seat and smiled at the silent adoration surrounding her. The elf reddened both in amazement and slight jealousy. She wished she could be _that_ smooth.

But her air of exalted victory was cut short by the professor's audible clearing of his throat. "That's all very well Ms. de Chalons. Indeed, it was a rather orthodox retelling of our history." Florianne's spine snapped from her seat as she shuffled around, trying to deflect the heated embarrassment of the professor's nonplussed reaction. "Ms. Lavellan, I will give you a second chance to speak on the politics of universalism, and how it constituted social relations in the Blessed Age."

The younger elf was now struck with paralyzing fear. Everyone around her cast menacing glares, wondering how she could top _their_ best. "Well, um..." She breathed low and let her heart sink before gulping the stage fright down her throat. Her eyes sought focus. She stared straight ahead, almost lining her gaze up at the vaulted ceiling. A broken clock with unmoving hands captured her attention, and from there she found herself alone again, ready to make her entrance. "I think -..." she needed to set her pace. With the imagined flick of a conductor's wrist, her tempo began to set, "I think in terms of the Blessed Age, universalism proved most problematic given the otherwise rising tide of cultural relativism. The Ferelden uprising and secession brought on dissenting ideologies that at once challenged centuries of Orlesian monolithic rule. While we find that to be a _good_ thing now, there was resurgence both in the Free Marches and Ferelden for awakening cultural practices long suppressed, such as child marriages, the execution of 'witches,'... the..." she stumbled over, feeling her tempo quicken with the nervous pounding of her heart, "... the sacking of the Dalish and alienages."

The pause sent a shudder through the room, but Eölin continued. "It seems universalism proved problematic, because it haunted the politics of cultural relativism. Formerly oppressed states wanted to claim relativism as an answer to the dominance of Orlesian culture, but they ended up using it to oppress subcultures within their realm, or cultures considered 'sub' because they were less than equal in the eyes of the new rulers."

A curtain of silence closed in over her. Nothing but deadpan eyes hovered, and she found herself no longer unable to fixate her gaze on the unmoving clock. A sigh escaping from the professor's lips broke the awkward disquiet. He slowly adjusted his glasses before speaking, "Eölin, a name derived from the root _eolas_ , the elven word for knowledge. The 'lin' is a feminine suffix meaning 'child' attached to such descriptive words." The class was perplexed at his non sequitur. Eölin merely looked on dumbfounded at the explanation of her name's etymology. But before anyone could question or perhaps follow up the elf's charged response, the professor continued his rumination, "Well done, Eölin, child of knowledge. You arrived at the crux our seminar – the problematic of binaries and the tortured politics of culture." A pleased smile curled his normally straightened lips, and she could feel herself flush in giddy yet nervous excitement at such praise.

From the other side of the room, however, Florianne stared especially sharpened daggers onto the elf's timid frame. One could almost feel the smoldering heat of her rage beneath the mask of her cool yet begrudged composure. For a moment, Eölin held her gaze and trembled like a mouse caught by the cat's paw. This exchange was just a foreboding of more that was to come.

"Now, to continue..." The professor's mellifluous voice trailed once more into his recitation. The previous tension suddenly evaporated and misted into the air, leaving the students in another wave of enraptured indifference to the details spouted at them. The now infamous elf sank in her seat half in relief, for having impressed the professor and shown her true intellectual prowess, and half in bitter regret for having upset the delicate balance of her new social circle. What she had done was show up her peers, showed them that perhaps their long-established hierarchy was artificial and easily put down. Biting her lip, she cursed to herself, _Creators what have I done_?

* * *

"Ms. Lavellan? A minute!" Professor Fenharel stopped her dead in her tracks as she tried to weave her way through the deluge of hurrying students. The other students bottlenecked around in her in their rush. As soon as the crowd disappeared, Eölin timidly and slowly ambled towards the podium where the professor stood next to another... student? She glanced at him in quick scan. A tall young man, golden-haired, broad shoulders, no doubt a stalwart body hiding underneath the semi professional button up. Plain black-rimmed glasses framed his eyes. A dark dusting lined his jaw and upper neck. He was dressed too smartly for a student. Eölin wondered if he was perhaps a teaching assistant.

"Thank you for your contribution today, Ms. Lavellan," announced the professor as soon as she was mere inches away. He shuffled through papers before straightening them out on the podium's hardwood platform. "I thought I might introduce you to my research assistant, Cullen Rutherford. He is a fourth-year, but with a little bit of work and luck, he should move onto our doctoral program by the next year." The man cast her a dashing smile, friendly and eager though somewhat blushing at his superior's adulation.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Lavellan." Eölin immediately took Cullen's accent as Ferelden, an accent that was perhaps slightly out of shape from having been gone from home for so long. He mimicked the professor's formality as he held out his hand in observance of the air of formality that stuffed the university's rather bleak atmosphere. Eölin took it, almost squinting when she realized how tightly he squeezed and how much force he exerted in such banalities.

"Nice to meet you too, but please. Call me Eölin," she answered curtly, nodding her head. She threw a glance at the professor so he too would cease addressing her with the stuffy decorum of her last name.

Cullen chuckled in gregarious amusement. "Well, Eölin, you gave an impressive answer in class. Not many first-years put such nuance in their arguments."

The elf would have blushed at the compliment, normally given the circumstances. But she was too flustered and confused about the purpose of the little meeting. A hesitant laugh rolled through her lips more out of politeness than in actual enjoyment of his praise. For a moment, she studied his hard lined face – jaws smoothed around the edges, and eyes a soft warm honey, almost like the hay of his hair. Eölin immediately turned her gaze to the professor in an effort not to awkwardly gawk like some besotted schoolgirl (besotted schoolgirl that she was). University was a professional setting, she reminded herself. These people were here for their academic ambitions, not to be objects of naive infatuation. Biting her lip, she forced herself to propel the conversation forward. "Professor, was there something you wanted to ask me?"

"Yes – both of you actually," he turned to both of them as he packed the folded papers into his briefcase. "Cullen is spearheading a research project. We are undertaking a translation of recently discovered runes. Though I will be translating, I do believe we need extra help."

She quirked a brow at his explanation. Her eyes darted for a second at the research assistant, who assumed a stern and serious look upon the pronouncement of his upcoming duties. Eölin wondered at the choice phrase of 'extra help.'

Professor Fenharel continued without pause and soon jumped to her suspicions. "We have some funds for taking on another undergraduate assistant. I've seen your writing – excellent work and meticulous archiving done to support your argument. You've only been in school a few weeks, and you've already colored me impressed." The professor smiled at her as if he conveyed exactly what he was proposing, but Eölin merely frowned in her bemused disbelief. _Wait this isn't actually happening_...

Cullen parted his mouth in enthusiasm, ready to speak and address the confusion on her face. Without further ado, he jumped in on the conversation, "The professor wants to ask you to work on this project. The runes he is translating are very archaic and its lexicon barely known. I need help crosschecking it with other languages that may help discern the runes' meaning and calligraphy."

Eölin stood in utter shock. They were offering _her_ – a lowly and ignorant first year – a prestigious position in the most prestigious university across Thedas?! Her face flushed and head dizzied. The floor beneath her seemed to wave like treacherous water.

"Well?" the professor pressed her for an answer. It was as if neither men could see her disarray and bewilderment.

"I- uh..." the younger elf stammered through her words, unable to give an answer and unsure how to even process the sudden news. Both men had keen eyes focused on her, waiting for her answer to roll off the tip of her tongue. It all made her so nervous, so fraught with indecision when the answer should be so simple. Eölin looked at her professor, possibly her new mentor and guide throughout these new changes in her life. He too had a pleasant aura about him – a charm reserved for those who kept to themselves. His lupine nose gave him a regal air, and his straightened posture always made him tower over the lesser mortals that walked around him. Though he maintained a professional and somewhat aloof demeanor, she knew that he was enthusiastic in recruiting her. He probably called on her during class to test her actual worth in this endeavor.

Looking over to his research assistant, Eölin was immediately drawn to Cullen – suave, handsome, charming. Though she knew that wasn't what she was in university for, that she wasn't there to find a man to fix her life, and that _he_ himself wasn't there to hook younger girls like her into his grasp, made the decision a little easier. She gave a hard swallow of the nerves balling in the back of her mouth. With a sigh, letting the anxiety roll off her shoulders and sweep through the room, she spoke in a loud and firm voice. "Yes!"


End file.
